


Father Christmas

by Merixcil



Series: Advent Fics 2017 [6]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24522580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: A man calling himself Pete Castiglione volunteers as a mall Santa and an old friend drops by
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page
Series: Advent Fics 2017 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767640
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Father Christmas

Volunteering as a mall Santa is one of the most tedious, time consuming and oddly rewarding ventures Frank has ever pursued. By the end of the second day he’s got the routine down pat, from coaxing shy kids out of their shell to trying to deter the more overzealous ones who think he might be able to cram five different games consoles and a bicycle into a glorified sock.

Frank's got the power of persuasion, but as far as they’re concerned he is Santa, the buck stops with him. He hadn’t meant to put himself out there like this, but he’d scored a job setting up the grotto and then overheard a couple of staff fretting over the last minute cancellation of their first pick for the role over health issues. He doesn’t really have an excuse for putting his name forward, there were kids milling around the food court and Frank had a moment of weakness. Something like that. He’d intended to fill in for a day but once he’d slapped on the extra padding and all but hidden his face behind the fake beard he looked pretty convincing. After that it was just a matter of talking to the kids till they found someone better to replace him.

Only the mall seemed to think that he was much better than any of the alternatives and at the end of his first day he was practically begged to stay on for the rest of the season. Apparently he’s good with kids or something, as if talking to them like they’re people is hard. He should have said no, but every construction site in New York has had to shut down due to ice and really, there’s enough bullshit in the world without a subpar Santas.

“Alright, you stay out of trouble.” Frank grins, ushering a particularly precocious girl off his lap who’d spent the best part of the last ten minutes trying to negotiate a sleigh ride. He hasn’t bothered affecting a more Santa-like voice for the role, he never claimed to be any kind of actor, but no one seems to be complaining that he sounds like he was plucked fresh out of Brooklyn.

In the minute or so he gets before the next kid comes through, Frank tries to readjust the padding in the suit to let out some of the hot air that’s left him stinking like a pig the past three days. The fucking desert wasn’t as hot as this.

The curtain leading into the grotto twitches and Frank immediately knows that he’s getting an adult this time from the angle at which it’s swept aside. That can happen, sometimes for the joke of it all and sometimes with sincerity. It’s important not to let it bother you, though he’s maybe a little (a lot) less patient with grownups coming through here.

It takes him all of two seconds to work out that he’s definitely going to let this bother him. Cheeks rosy from the cold, eyes sparkling in the fairy lights sprinkled around the grotto, it takes Karen’s a beat to find him in the atmospheric lighting and by then Frank is already lost.

Her mouth twists into a small, self-satisfied smile. “You’re a hard man to find.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Karen.” Frank says before he can think better of it, going onto autopilot for want of anything intelligent to say.

Karen rolls her eyes. “Why? This is a public place, and legally speaking, you’re dead.”

“Frank Castle is dead.” He reminds her, like he doesn’t still think of himself as Frank, like Pete Castiglione doesn’t feel like a weighty second skin that he’s days away from shedding altogether.

“Yeah, I suppose he is.”

Silence falls between them, curdling into something uncomfortable and close, and Frank can’t get enough air. He’s distantly aware that the clock is ticking but he has no idea if he’s pushing his luck with how long it’s going to take Karen to move on.

“Listen, Karen.” He starts. “I appreciate you coming down here, I really do. But I’m trying to build a new life for myself, and I’m kinda trying to do a job here. So-“

“You’re saying you don’t want to see me?” Karen cuts him off, and her voice is just this side of flirtatious.

Frank shrugs. “Want has nothing to do with it.”

“Well, if you’ve got a job to do I guess I better tell you what I want for Christmas.” She smirks, taking a step towards him. “Is that a good enough reason for me to be here?”

Frank rears back before he can think about it. “You don’t have to sit in my lap.”

She opens her mouth like she might have a clever rebuttal to that but seems to think better of it. “No. Of course not. There is something that I want for Christmas though, something I reckon you can help me with.”

“Sure.”

“Have a drink with me sometime. No drama, no bullshit, no government spy crap. Just you and me, whatever version of you feels the most real.”

Karen doesn’t lay a hand on him, doesn’t lean in like she might want to kiss him. Frank takes a long, steady breath and tries to convince himself that he’s not really committing to anything, that he’s being asked to go for a drink with a friend.

If he has to consider the possibility that this is a real date his nerve will fail him. He’s so very tired of running from the electricity that seems to live in every room he and Karen step into together.

Frank nods, just once. “Ok.”

Karen beams down at him. “Tonight?”

“I get off at nine.”

“I’ll meet you at Molly’s. Irish place two blocks east from here.” She smiles, and lurches forward like she might be about to kiss his forehead. Frank doesn’t move but she doesn’t close the distance, not yet. That’s probably for the best. At least give her a chance to buy him a drink before he caves and lets himself run for the hills.

“See you then.” He says, as she turns to leave. The grotto is silent and lacklustre without her in it, but Frank doesn’t have time to dwell on the dead air when he has a matter of seconds to stitch himself back together for the next kid to come bounding through the door. But it’s easy after that, if he can convince himself that he deserves to have fun every once in a while then talking anyone down from an x-box or a sleigh ride is nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted as part of a multi chaptered 'advent fics' fic that I'm trying to split up. If you think you've read it before, you probably have


End file.
